


In Five Years

by Craftybadger1234



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Mildest of mild angst, New Year's Eve, Supportive Hermione Granger, Supportive Ron Weasley, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftybadger1234/pseuds/Craftybadger1234
Summary: The bulletin board asks, "Where do you want to be in five years?"Harry's nervous about posting his plan.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	In Five Years

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CleopatraIsMyName for the super quick turnaround on a thing I wrote on a whim this afternoon!
> 
> This is a small, lighthearted thing based loosely on a meme that I saw and paraphrased from memory.
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone!

Harry walked by the eighth years’ bulletin board again, but only because he couldn’t seem to keep away from it. The same fluttering square of parchment with the delicate scrolling cursive enthralled him and kept him from moving away. Again.

“Are you ever going to post yours?” Hermione asked, coming up beside him. “I had too many ideas, but finally settled on one.” She pointed to her own square — _Make a difference in the world. - Hermione_

“You’re going to be brilliant, Hermione.”

“I hope so. I want to get my parents back, restore their memories and all that. But that felt too personal. I’m also wanting to get married, but not sure I need that within five years. Kids would be nice, but not necessary. I don’t know. Too many things. But for certain, I want to make a difference in the world.” She smiled at him and linked their arms together. “What about you? Where do you want to be in five years?”

His eyes strayed to the parchment — frustratingly unsigned — and he shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it much.”

————

The bulletin board was surprisingly not Hermione’s idea. During a late night common room discussion about their various Mind Healers, Terry Boot mentioned his own ‘homework’ of coming up with three goals for the new year, to keep him moving forward. Where did he want to be in one year? Five years? Ten years?

Ideas, both serious and ridiculous, started to fly amongst the gathered eighth years. It left them all feeling so lighthearted, that Lisa Turpin handed out two or three squares to everyone the next day and told them to write a few goals. She and Terry decorated a large bulletin board and encouraged everyone to post their five year goals — both serious and ridiculous — for everyone to see. That way they could work on them together. Encourage each other when needed. Heal from all the trauma of the last year.

The hodge podge of squares soon covered the board. Some of the parchments had been charmed different colours. Some were decorated with cartoonish illustrations or doodles. 

There were silly goals — _Eat my weight in chocolate frogs. Get laid. I want some outrageous change like dying my hair blue or tattooing a snitch on my arse._

There were serious goals — _I’ve never travelled anywhere and want to visit ten new cities outside of Great Britain. Finish my Potions Mastery. Write a novel._

There were generic platitudes — _I want to be happy with wherever life takes me next. Find the silver linings. Live life to the fullest._

And the hardest of all, sad reminders of their trauma — _Tell my mum to sod off. Get through the night without nightmares or potions. I just want to forget the oily feel of Cruciatus._

None of them caught Harry’s attention like the simple, unembellished square in the lower right hand corner, almost underneath _Get box seats to PudU_.

Hermione had offered Ron and Harry more ideas than she considered for herself. As if her own life plan didn’t need tweaking, but clearly the two of them needed managing. Ron had hesitated over writing _Become an Auror_ and sighed in relief when Harry shrugged that suggestion off. Instead he wrote _Invent something funny or mildly destructive with George_ and Harry thought that would do both brothers some good.

His own squares remained blank and each day he grew more and more anxious about it. Hardly any of the parchments were signed, but he felt somehow that everyone knew he hadn’t contributed at all.

The fact remained that up until recently, he didn’t really think he’d make it this far. He fully expected to die back in May and now, on the cusp of the new year, he was still trying to come to terms with walking and talking and breathing and living as a man free of prophecy and horcruxes. All possibilities were open to him, and he didn’t know how to pick amongst so many options.

Especially since this one square opened his mind to a possibility he hadn’t had time to explore in the months and years before the war. Free of the horcrux and the influence of Voldemort in his soul and mind, Harry’s thoughts coalesced into a new shape. His blood hummed with this change, but he didn’t know where or how to explore it.

His Mind Healer suggested he be more open about it with his friends. That if others knew, then they could help him. “Water always finds its own level, Harry,” Healer Murphy liked to say. “There’s someone out there that wants to help you. But you have to let them know you’re ready for it.”

But it was big and different and frightening. And Harry didn’t know if he could handle big and different and frightening right now.

————

The square of parchment in Harry’s pocket weighed, at the very least, eight tonnes. 

He didn’t want to put it off any longer, not when he was the only one that hadn’t added to their board. And now, during the raucous eighth year party on New Year’s Eve, it seemed his time had come.

He cast a mild Notice-Me-Not Charm as he made his way to the bulletin board. For almost a minute he stood with clammy hands, just staring at the lower right corner. A hand touched his back, curling around his waist as familiar bushy brown hair tickled his cheek. On his other side, stood Ron, hands in his pockets and face excited and expectant.

“I should have used a stronger charm,” Harry said sardonically.

Hermione snorted. “It wouldn’t have helped.”

“Ready, then?” Ron asked.

Harry pulled the square of parchment out of his pocket and tried to smooth it out on his jeans. Hermione used a charm that actually did some good at fixing the creases, and then added a sticking charm to the back for him.

_I just want to be wearing my husband’s t-shirt, flipping pancakes in a pretty house with a large garden and two dogs. That’s all._

With trembling hands, Harry stuck his _Me too — H_ to the bottom.

He stepped back and felt his muscles coiling in tighter and tighter knots as he waited for their reaction.

“That’s a very good goal, Harry,” Hermione said softly, slipping her hand around his waist again. Some of the tension unspooled from Harry’s shoulders.

Ron tapped the parchment where it said _t-shirt_. “This doesn’t mention pyjama bottoms and all I’m saying is you’d best be wearing pants at the very least, wanker, because I don’t want either of your naked dicks near my pancakes.”

A rush of relief and adrenaline flooded Harry. “Who said we’d even be inviting you over?”

With a mock gasp of indignation Ron said, “You mean we don’t roll through your floo at all hours as though your house is an extension of ours? Well now I’m just heart-broken.”

“Ugh, fine. It’s a date. New Year’s Breakfast at the Potter house in five years. Complete with pancakes and pants.”

And maybe… just maybe… Harry’s husband.


End file.
